


yebisu: solid dance

by slexenskee (Sambomaster)



Series: Forever Future Funk [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Drabble Series, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mpreg, Necromancer Harry Potter, not necessary to read, yebisu!verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sambomaster/pseuds/slexenskee
Summary: Well if they're getting divorced they had to get married in the first place at some point, right? Basically this is just the story of how the hell the Master of Death and the Dark Lord managed to get together in the first place.





	yebisu: solid dance

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect a lot from this, it's basically just total trash I wrote over a weekend lol. It's set in the same world as Yebisu but focuses on the future and has nothing to do with the plot of the original story. 
> 
> *also unlike Yebisu, this will actually cover mpreg and not just mention it peripherally. If you don't like it and read it anyway and then proceed to tell me how much you don't like mpreg, I really just don't even know what to do with you.

**1.**

So Harry decides to marry the dark lord, and all his friends think he’s lost his goddamn mind. Harry feels rather indifferent to the idea, personally. It appears he’s the only one who thinks that though.

 

“Hermione, he wants me,” Harry explained, patiently. “And I’ve already warned him that if we get married, I am ruling with him. He has to swear an oath. He can’t make any decisions without me.”

 

Hermione looked at a loss for words. “I admit that… sounds very advantageous.” She can’t help but observe, in a small voice. If Harry accepts his offer… well, he’ll condemn himself to a life bound to the Dark Lord Voldemort, but the Dark Lord Voldemort will also be bound to _him_.

 

Harry sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t say we’re losing the war, but all the same it’s clear it’s going to go on for a very long time, which means in the end we’re _all_ going to lose. Both sides will lose so many wizards and witches, when we already have so few left to lose.” Harry argued. “This way, the war stops - no one else dies, and both sides win.”

 

Ron shook his head. “Yeah, but still.” He shriveled his nose. “ _Marrying_ him? Why in Merlin’s name would he want to get married to Harry? No offense, Harry.”

 

“None taken.” Harry assured.

 

“Was he specific and why he wants you, exactly?” Hermione asked, looking far from enthused.

 

Harry scratches his cheek, looking away with a vague shrug. “I dunno— my powers, I guess.”

 

“And he wants heirs,” Harry added in a small voice, blushing profusely. “And wants them with me. Apparently I’m the best candidate.”

 

“Well, that’s certainly not untrue.” Hermione concurred, looking at him critically.

 

There were a lot of reasons for Lord Voldemort to want Harry, but Hermione would assume it was chiefly this horcrux business. Of course there was more to it than that; Harry was the Master of Death - the patron of death and dark magic. That sort of power was an aphrodisiac unlike any other for the fanatical dark purebloods. Harry was practically their god. Hermione wasn’t sure how either of those worked - both the horcrux and the Master of Death - but it seemed both were valid enough reasons for Voldemort to settle this war without any bloodshed, and even acquiesce half his power to Harry.

 

It was an appealing scenario, she could admit. It would save the Wizarding World from yet another bloody war, invaluable magical blood being spilt for something that could be solved with something as simple and time-tested as an alliance by marriage. Hermione could have laughed if she was in any kind of mood for humor— since the dawn of civilization itself humans have been using this tried and true technique to peacefully avoid war. And to think, her best friend would be following in that time-honored tradition.

 

But at the cost of Harry’s happiness?

 

“I just— “She wrung her hands, nervously. “Harry, you have to think about yourself here, too. Are you going to be okay with this?”

 

Harry looked up from where he was fishing his teabag out of his cup. “Have you seen him recently, ‘Mione?” He asked, distractedly, moving for the cream in the middle of the Weasley’s dining table. “He’s a pretty good looking bloke. Now that he has a nose and all.”

 

Ron snorted, snickering into his own tea.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh come _on,_ Harry, you can’t just base a marriage off of looks!”

 

“Well I’m not really getting married for love, now am I?” Harry pointed out. “Do I think we can get along? Yes… well. Maybe. Maybe sometimes. Do I think I’m going to be opposing him at every turn? Absolutely. That’s why I have to do this, ‘Mione. I can’t just let him rule the entire world all by himself— it would fall into ruin!”

 

“I absolutely agree with you.” Hermione sighed, slumping in her seat. “I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

 

“Don’t worry about me, Hermione.” Harry assured, with far too much nonchalance. “I don’t think it’ll be as bad as you think.”

 

Hermione looked at him flatly.

 

“I’m not saying it’s going to be great, either.” Harry added, placating. “I just - I think it will work out well for everyone, is all.”

 

Ron shriveled his nose. “Yeah ok marriage is weird whatever— I dunno about you mate, but being pregnant sounds like total shite.”

 

Hermione shot him an unimpressed look.

 

Ron threw up his hands in defense. “I mean, for everyone! Not just men. The whole thing sounds awful, if you ask me.”

 

“I don’t disagree.” Harry sighed, looking defeated. “I would prefer not to… have heirs that way. I’m certainly not looking forward to it. But people do it all the time— voluntarily. It can’t be that bad, right?”

 

His two best friends were silent. Even Hermione very tellingly did not have a response.

 

Harry sighed again. Well, he agreed, didn’t he? And he’s always wanted kids. He’s always wanted a family. He’d never thought he’d go about it in this particular way, but he supposes at the end of the day they’ll still be family to call his own, right?

 

His best friend scrutinized him closely. Finally she sighed. “Changing your mind is a lesson in futility.” She lamented. “But please, promise me you’ll think on it? _Seriously,_ think on it?”

 

Harry grinned at her. “Sure, I promise.”

 

.

 

**2.**

 

They don’t get married right away, mainly because they’re too busy arguing amongst each other over everything and anything under the sun to even start the process.

 

In the end Harry shoves it all onto a very ecstatic Lavender Brown, who apparently wants to be an event planner when she grows up and all but falls over herself at the opportunity to plan Harry’s wedding. Harry doesn’t want anything grand, and he put his foot down when he saw the extensive guest list, because Voldemort wanted every important figure from every place in the history of ever to be there to see it and it had grown seriously out of hand. But this entire marriage is going to be about compromise— Harry and Tom have very conflicting ideals, morals, and goals, so both of them were going to have to give a little. So Harry acquiesces to the cameras, because this way the public can see it and Tom gets to have his publicity, and Harry wins because they won’t actually be there and it’ll at least be _after_ the fact.

 

Anyway, Harry doesn’t really care about the wedding, where it will be, what flowers they’ll have, what kind of cake they’ll serve - so he leaves it in Lavender’s surprisingly capable hands. Well, everything but the cake.  Ron has very serious opinions on cake flavors, so Harry left him in charge of the food.

 

Right now, Harry needs to show Voldemort that this is going to work; that they can achieve all his goals, and at the same time achieve Harry’s too.

 

This is why they’re standing in the miserable gloom just outside stonehenge, cold and wet.

 

Tom is quite cross beside him, because apparently there’s nothing dark lords hate more than getting wet.

 

“Please tell me we’re here for a reason, Potter.” He drawls, annoyed.

 

“Do you have any sense of patience?” Harry retorts, rolling his eyes. “Merlin, we haven’t even been here for a minute yet.”

 

“I still don’t understand why we have to be here, at all.” The dark lord points out.

 

Harry just leads them closer to the monument. He looks around; it is entirely deserted, and not just because of the weather.

 

“Have you noticed something odd, yet?” Harry asks, casually.

 

Voldemort scoffs. “Does your line of questioning have a point, Potter?”

 

Harry just shakes his head with a sigh, before gesturing to the empty car lot they had just arrived from. “There are no muggles.”

 

“They probably exercised their minimal brain power and decided today was an awful day for tourism.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes again. “Muggles will come to stonehenge to take silly pictures on their iPads no matter what the weather.” He returns, folding his arms.

 

Voldemort frowns. “What’s your point then?”

 

“The muggles are gone. Not just from here - from everywhere.” Harry reveals, to Tom’s shock.

 

“Did you see any muggles when we left the Leaky Cauldron and went out into muggle London?” He asks pointedly. It was brief, but they did have to stop there before apparating here.

 

Tom frowns further, considering this deeply. His eyes widen in realization. “There weren’t any.” Which is absurd, because London is a sprawling metropolis with a population problem that was only rivaled by its parking problem.

 

He looks around then, as if he doesn’t quite know what to believe.

 

“There are no muggles in this world,” Harry explains, as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and looks up at the sky and the towering rocks around them.

 

“How—  

 

“Because we are no longer on Earth.” Harry finishes, smiling.

 

The dark lord simply stares at him blankly.

 

He had known Potter was the Master of Death. From the moment his powers awakened when he turned seventeen it was a very difficult fact to miss. You could tell intrinsically just by being in the same room with him - there was an otherworldly power locked within that body, one even the dark lord did not fully understand. It unfurled around him as if it had a life of its own, a tangible magical presence that felt as alluring as the dark magic he loved so intimately; the same dark magic the boy now ruled over.

 

Of course, Potter was still Potter, which tended to ruin the awe-inspiring effect his powers had on people. He was still a boy, and still very much so a Gryffindor.

 

So this was the first time Voldemort looked at the boy, and really, _truly,_ realized what he is.

 

“Not on Earth,” he repeats, slowly.

 

“I separated the muggle world and the wizarding world into two different dimensions.” Harry reveals, making the dark lord’s eyes widen. “So, as far as this dimension is concerned, muggles no longer exist.”

 

Voldemort is speechless.

 

“So,” Harry claps his hands delightedly. “You’ve rid the world of muggles - and I’ve kept them all alive and well.”

 

Harry smiles roguishly. “How’s that for compromise, huh?”

 

//

 

There’s no way he can let that brat get away with the last word— and so dramatically, at that.

 

This is why all the Hogwarts students are perfectly unharmed, as are the professors, Dumbledore included. He’s still headmaster, and still the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot much to the unified incredulity of literally everyone, Harry included.

 

When he demanded to know what Tom was planning, the dark lord revealed he had no ulterior plans for Hogwarts at all.

 

“Hogwarts will remain as it is, and always has been.” Tom proclaims, to Harry’s absolute shock.

 

“W— What about the muggleborns?”

 

“What about them?” Tom shrugs nonchalantly. “They’re already there; tossing them back into the muggle world is probably more trouble than it’s worth at this point, and I have a feeling the systematic slaughtering of school children is not something you would approve of.”

 

Harry sputters ineffectually. “What about Dumbledore?”

 

“That old coot lives to see another day.” Tom digresses. He’s feeling a bit more charitable now that he has supreme and unquestioned power over the entire world. What’s Dumbledore, in the grand scheme of things?

 

And honestly the only real reason - personal vendettas aside - he had to kill the old man was the wand, and as it turns out it is completely unusable by both of them. The elder wand is Death’s wand; it will respond to no other but the newly awakened Master of Death. So Dumbledore’s death would be rather fruitless - and at least this way his remaining time among the living serves a purpose; namely, being used as a vehicle for Tom’s petty urge to show up Potter.

 

Harry still looks befuddled and confused.

 

Then Tom smirks. “How’s that for compromise?”

 

**3.**

 

Voldemort can admit that it’s been months, and he’s still bewildered and completely in shock; he isn’t the only one. The whole wizarding world has realized that the muggles have vanished, leaving entire cities completely empty. He could privately admit the reality was actually rather unsettling. Suddenly the world felt so… empty.

 

And he still didn’t know how the hell Potter did it. But if he needed confirmation that the boy was, indeed, Master of Death, this was more than enough to prove it.

 

He knew from his intense research on the subject - which he started the moment he realized his greatest adversary had somehow become it - that the position had less to do with death and more to do with the crossing of worlds. Dimensions, planes of reality, they were the things the Master of Death dealt with first and foremost.

 

He was fairly sure even Potter didn’t quite know what it meant to be Master of Death, although Tom was sure he’d figure it out eventually.

 

With a steady foundation for their partnership, they were able to iron most of the details of their marriage and subsequent alliance. They divvied up Ministry positions, each conceding a few choices to the other— so Lucius Malfoy was still the House majority leader, but Dumbledore got to retain his position as Chief Warlock of Wizengamot. Of course, the biggest change was the abolishment of the Minister, and the rise of the Supreme Chancellor. The Senate might still handle all the smaller legislative issues, and the Wizengamot Administration still acted as an international entity working to solve problems in a manner that benefited everyone - but the Supreme Chancellor presided over all of that.

 

Voldemort knew better than to attempt to wipe out the current government systems existing around the Wizarding World; he couldn’t be in the thick of things, deciding every little detail for his new world, when he had that same whole new world to deal with.

 

A new world that, incidentally, Harry Potter gave to him.

 

The boy in question was currently sitting across from him, the two of them cloistered away in a meeting room inside the monstrosity that was the Chancellor’s new international offices. They are in the midst of deciding on the locations for the other portals. As far as Voldemort is concerned, the less they see of the muggles the better, but Harry continuously reminds him that this isn’t a feasible reality. So here they are, once again, finding ways to compromise.

 

Or rather, that’s what they’re supposed to be doing.

 

For some irrational reason, he’s finding it difficult to concentrate. He keeps noticing the ring on Harry’s finger, as he waves his hands around in articulation of some point or other.

 

He chalks it up to the novelty of being married, and tries to refrain from staring at it too obviously.

 

Harry isn’t paying any attention to him right now anyway, head in his hand as he pours over the maps spread between them, looking a little tired. Voldemort hasn’t seen him in a few days - the Master of Death tends to come and go at random intervals. He disappears into the ether before Voldemort can even attempt to put a leash on him, much to his chagrin. Nothing works; he has the strongest wards known to man wrapped tight around his manor and yet the boy still always manages to cut through them like wet paper; attempting to put tracking spells on him is also a lesson in futility; and trying to _demand_ the boy to stay put? Well, sometimes that works. Other times Harry just laughs in his face.

 

At any rate he’s here right now, looking as if he hasn’t slept since Tom last saw him.

 

“How about eight, instead of seven,” Harry suggests then, stirring him out of his thoughts.

 

“Seven is the strongest number in magic.” The dark lord points out.

 

“Right. But eight is the most balanced. I was thinking we have one central portal - an anchor, if you will - and seven other supplementary ones. This way both seven and eight are utilized.”

 

Tom considers this. It’s not a bad idea by any means. “And where will the central portal go?”

 

Harry glances at him then. “That would depend on you, I guess.” He shrugs. “Around here, somewhere? That would be the most convenient.”

 

Tom narrows his eyes. “Shouldn’t it be somewhere most convenient for _you_? Since its your portal and all?”

 

“Well no, because you’re the one who’s going to be running it.” Harry says, matter-of-factly, causing Tom’s brow to twitch. Oh, he is, is he? He doesn’t remember deciding that.

 

But before Tom can voice his annoyance, Harry continues; “I mean, I’ll do all the maintenance and stuff if it breaks - and I’ll be the one powering them and all that - but who can cross into the Muggle World, and why, is up to you.” Harry blinks. “I think that’s pretty fair, no?”

 

Tom scowls, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his arms. “I suppose.” He answers, noncommittally. To his annoyance, Harry only appears amused at his antics.

 

“You will be able to control everything from the central portal,” Harry adds, leaning over the table to scrawl that into his notebook. “For example, in emergencies you can shut down the whole network through the central control portal.”

 

It’s a great idea, really, but hell if he tells the boy that. “So one of these eight portals will be here, in Constantinople.” He mutters, more to himself than to Harry. “Three will be in more populated areas - and the other four will be extremely difficult to get to.”

 

Harry’s head snaps up, as he beams at him. “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he enthuses.

 

He looks so stupidly pleased Tom has to look away. “For the metropolitan areas - including the capital, Washington and Beijing seem obvious choices.”

 

Harry nods his agreement. “I was also thinking of having one of the remote ones in the Himalayas, since the population is much larger there.” He covers his yawn with one of his hands, before pawing at his eyes. “Farther west though to cover more ground, so maybe somewhere between Nepal and Tajikistan?”

 

Tom frowns at him. When the boy had arrived he had been too distracted with his annoyance over Harry’s current attire to truly get a good look at him. He’s still annoyed; Harry is his spouse, his equal - he can’t be dressing like a muggle. Except they’re not in any notable company at the moment, so he has no reason to berate him. At any rate, he can privately admit Harry looks good in muggle clothes.

 

“When was the last time you slept?” The dark lord demands, when Harry yawns again.

 

“I practically slept the whole day away.” Harry reveals, causing the dark lord to narrow his eyes further.

 

He stands up abruptly. “Come with me.”

 

Harry blinks up at him. “Huh? But what about the --

 

“Those portals are going nowhere,” Tom interrupts drily. “They can wait for an hour or two.”

 

“Well, sure.” Harry agrees with a confused frown, even as he follows Tom’s command and stands up as well. “But, _why_ are we stopping?”

 

“Humor me for a moment, will you?”

 

Harry rolls his eyes with a defeated sigh. “If I must.” He laments dramatically, but allows Tom to drag him out the door with a firm hand anyhow.

 

The dark lord’s official offices - more often than not referred to as the Tower of Babylon, due to its staggering height - housed all sorts of people at any given hour, mostly government officials, legislators, or diplomatic guests. It was more than enough people to warrant having a floor sanctioned off into a dedicated infirmary, at any rate. The amount of petty arguments and ensuing hexes fully grown adult bureaucrats were capable of never failed to astound Tom.

 

Fortunately there were no hot headed politicians in sight when he dragged Harry several floors down to visit it.

 

Harry realizes where they’re going after they’ve already entered the door. “Tom,” he starts, crossly, “I’m _not_ sick, I’m just tired --

 

“Check him,” he directs towards the doctor, completely ignoring Harry’s protests.

 

“Really, Dr. Admatah, I’m absolutely fine.” Harry reassures the weathered old man, even as he puts on his spectacles and peers down at Harry.

 

The doctor looks at Harry, then at the dark lord.

 

“Ah, humor me then, would you, my boy?” He says kindly as he turns back to the boy, causing Harry to huff in exasperation.

 

“I’m doing quite a bit of humoring today,” Harry grouses, but complies anyhow and sits still.

 

The boy makes pleasant small talk with the old Persian healer, asking about grandkids and whatnot. Of course Harry has made friends with everyone he employs, Tom thinks with an internal eye roll. Every non-Death Eater, anyhow.

 

Dr. Admatah’s brows raise, before he tucks his wand back into his pocket. “Well, it appears congratulations are in order!”

 

Harry and Tom stare at him blankly.

 

“...What?”

 

//

 

Tom watches the boy sleep with a scowl.

 

It was the infamous Potter luck, he supposed. How else could the boy have gotten pregnant on the very first try? It was difficult enough already to manage that; add in the infamously fickle and temperamental male pregnancy potion, and it was nothing short of a miracle. Or just a healthy dose of luck.

 

Harry slept on, oblivious to Tom’s uncharitable thoughts.

 

Oh, but the luck didn’t stop there.

 

He’d assumed they would have to consummate their marriage _at least_ twice, since Tom wanted an heir for the Slytherin line and Harry decided he wanted one for the Potter line, too.

 

But as it turned out, they were having _twins,_ so there was no point in trying for another.

 

The dark lord sighed irritably.

 

He should be pleased, really. It’s not as if he married the boy to sleep with him. The seventeen-year old was attractive, certainly - but he was also barely legal, woefully naive and innocent, and had never given any indication he found sexual activity of any kind favorable. As far as Voldemort was concerned, that was perfectly fine. Harry was immortal, and so was he, so it’s not as if they were in any hurry. He could wait until the boy had grown into himself a little more - and could actually think of sex without shriveling his nose and proclaiming it sounded gross.

 

But Harry had surprised him, making it a high priority immediately after they were married.

 

And, well, they’d certainly consummated their marriage. And it certainly hadn’t been a bad experience, either.

 

It hadn’t happened again since then, but that was fine as far as he was concerned; Voldemort was in no hurry to press the issue.

 

As it turns out, he won’t ever have to, either, because Harry had gotten pregnant on the first try with twins, successfully satisfying both their needs for heirs. He isn’t sure how he feels about this, in the same way he never understands any of his own thoughts and emotions when it comes to this boy. He decides to do what he always does; bury his emotions and dismiss them as nonexistent. With that thought, he crawls into his bed beside the sleeping figure, and decides a little sleep wouldn’t hurt him, either.

 

//

 

Harry wakes up in the dark lord’s bed and doesn’t recognize his surroundings.

 

It comes to him eventually. The room is vaguely familiar, and with a furious blush he remembers it as Voldemort’s room. He’d only been in here one other time, and that had been… well… after they were married.

 

Speaking of that event, it appeared it was successful.

 

Harry smiles. Twins. He hopes they’re a boy and a girl so he can name them Luke and Leia. He has a feeling Tom won’t stand for that though.

 

The man in question is sleeping soundly right beside Harry, to Harry’s surprise. It seems too trusting a gesture to come from Voldemort. But maybe he’s learned to trust Harry, if only a little bit? Harry scowls. Unlikely. He was probably just equally as tired as Harry was and accidentally fell asleep.

 

Harry flops back down, deciding he’s not quite uncomfortable enough to think about moving right now, blinking up into the darkened ceiling. He must have slept for a long time then, because he remembers it being bright out and now the sky is a bruised purple, heavy with stars. It intimidates him to look, sometimes. It reminds him of just what kind of responsibilities he has now.

 

In all honesty, he doesn’t mind being Master of Death. For now. There are a lot of perks to being god. He wonders how long that will last, though.

 

Harry yawns; he feels as if he should be surprised that he’s still tired, but at this point he’s sort of resigned to it. He knew something was wrong for a few weeks now, but he’d assumed it was yet another inner ear problem plaguing him post-death. Who knew being unable to die would make you so susceptible to vertigo? At any rate he had vowed to get it checked out when he had time… but as usual, time just seemed to get the best of him.

 

“Potter.”

 

He stiffens, turning his head to the side to see Voldemort has awoken.

 

He’s not really sure what to say in this situation. They’re kind of… in the same bed right now.

 

Harry remembers vividly the last time they were both in this bed, together. He flushes brilliantly, suddenly feeling horridly uncomfortable.

 

Panicking, he thinks quickly. “W-What do you think of Alta?”

 

The dark lord stares at him.

 

“It’s at the very tip of the Norwegian sea,” Harry adds after a beat.

 

“For another portal, you mean?”

 

“It’s pretty difficult to get to… but not so out of the way that it’ll be obsolete.” He explains.

 

“Didn’t I say this could wait for a few more hours?” The dark lord says, drily.

 

“It’s been a few hours.” Harry retorts, stubbornly.

 

Voldemort appears to have a few choice words to say to that. “Did you hear anything that the healer said?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry rolls his eyes flippantly. “Get some rest, don’t overexert myself - if I start to feel tired I should slow down,” he waves a hand dismissively. “I’m resting now, aren’t I?”

 

The dark haired man merely gives him a nonplussed look, before snapping his fingers for a house elf. He demands the poor thing to bring dinner immediately, despite Harry’s protests. He moves them a few paces away to where two large wingback chairs are divided by a tea table, in comfortable distance of the warm fireplace. Harry reluctantly migrates over, asking the elf for the blanket off his bed when it returns with their food.

 

He’s sufficiently cozy and bundled up in it when Voldemort starts pestering him to eat. “Eat, Potter.” He commands, as if Harry is a house elf who must follow all his demands.

 

Harry sighs, foregoing the more heavier fair in favor of the basket of bread.

 

“That can’t be all you eat,” Voldemort says, critically.

 

Harry shrugs. “Let’s see if I can keep it down for longer than a half hour before I move onto anything else.”

 

Voldemort frowns. Before he can make a comment on that, Harry wisely segues back to their earlier conversation. “So, Norway? And what do you think about somewhere in the Sahara? It would need to be somewhere fairly elevated, so I was thinking the Hoggar mountains in Algeria…”

 

//

 

There were a few benefits to the male pregnancy potion, and a hell of a lot of disadvantageous - and deadly - complications.

 

The entire pregnancy was sustained through the mother’s magic, meaning the fetus is saturated in magic since conception. This is why, despite its many difficulties, it is highly favored by purebloods. In fact, it is apparently their preferred method of having heirs. Who knew. Offspring produced by a male pregnancy potion are astronomically more powerful, often displaying incredible feats of magic at young ages. Harry had considered surrogacy as an option, before ultimately dismissing it for this reason. Even if he managed to convince Voldemort to agree to it, he didn’t think he’d be okay passing the opportunity up.

 

It wasn’t that he wanted to be pregnant - being pregnant was awful. If he could avoid it, he would. But he was the Master of Death. He was the all-powerful deity of dark magic. When his magic awakened at seventeen, the sheer explosive amount of energy was enough to alert the entire world, and that’s to say nothing of his other powers - namely his inherent talent in necromancy and soul magic. He would be a selfish idiot if he didn’t pass that on. Not only just for his own kids, but for the rest of wizarding kind.

 

So the male pregnancy potion’s chief advantage was the excessive magical power it yielded. This was also the reason male pregnancies always yielded completely healthy, magical children. Squibs were impossible; yet another reason the male pregnancy potion was such an attractive choice forpurebloods.

 

 

But, aside from that, it sucked.

 

It was horrible on the mother. He was the mother in this case, since he was carrying the child and all. He had learned in Care of Magical Creatures class that, in a mating pair, regardless of gender, whichever of the two (or three in the case of Manticores) carried the offspring was considered the mother. But in those magical creatures - like centaurs and manticores and most species of pixies - males were naturally able to do that. In humans it was normally impossible, so they had to use a potion. A potion that, unsurprisingly, wasn't all that good for them. 

 

The male pregnancy potion was used so rarely because of more than just some uncomfortableness. Sickness and general malaise were common side effects. Incidentally so was death. 

 

Death was actually pretty common; it was so rarely used even in pureblood circles because only very powerful wizards could carry the fetus to term on magic alone. If they weren’t strong enough to do so, they would exhaust their magical core and die. He didn't know of any other person conceived from a male potion since Merlin. He'd always suspected Dumbledore had been as well, but didn't know how to ask. At any rate, Harry was not in any danger of that; he snorted, imagining Malfoy attempting this. He’d probably die within a week.

 

But just because Harry had more than enough magic to spare and was incapable of dying didn’t mean he was exempt from the uncomfortableness.

 

Uncomfortableness was putting it mildly. Harry was fairly sure this was hell.

 

He couldn’t keep anything down, he was sick and nauseous all the time, and he was too dizzy to even attempt to do leisurely things like read or watch tv. At this rate, he was going to miss all of the new Game of Thrones season, it was a damn travesty. He’d had to beg Hermione to crossover into the muggle world and find a Superdrug and buy him as much Dramamine and Advil as they would let her. His magical healer just kept giving him pepper up potions and ginger tea and quite frankly, it wasn’t cutting it.

 

He could tell something was off with his body. He slept for whole days, he was never hungry, despite the fact he should be ravenous, and he had never felt so disconnected to his magic in his life.

 

He didn’t even know if he could leave this dimension right now, and ever since he became Master of Death he’d been able to wander worlds as easily as he could Hogwarts castle. Hell, he doubted he could cast a levitation charm right now. Another thing the doctor warned him about— there would be times when he would feel exceptionally week, before eventually bouncing back to his regular strength. He’d just have to wait out the tide in the meantime. Without dragons, petty murders, or Arya Stark to occupy him. Why did people ever voluntarily subject themselves to this?

 

Anyway, this was why he had agreed to stay in Voldemort’s manor, at least for the most part. He really was in no condition to be off galavanting around, and his room in the manor was nothing short of luxurious. Also, it was _his_ room, and his room alone. Truth be told, living with Voldemort - and being married to him - really wasn’t all that bad.

 

Sticking around so much also had the added benefit of giving them a lot of time to discuss their plans.

 

They’d decided on the locations for the portals, although actually setting them up would have to wait until Harry was in a better condition to do so. For the more populated areas, they would have one in the new Wizarding capital, Constantinople, and three others in Washington, Sydney and Beijing. The only real stipulation on Harry’s end was that they needed to be highly elevated to work, so for the portals in the cities they would have to be atop the tallest building in the city. As for the provincial portals, they just needed to pick mountainous areas. Fortunately the more mountainous terrains tended to also yield the least amount of people, so choosing them wasn’t difficult. The Nordic portal rested atop one of the many peaks in the fjords of the Scandinavian mountain range; the Himalayan portal was built in the Pamir mountains of Tajikistan, at the tail end of the massive Himalayan mountain range. After much deliberation, they decided on the Egyptian portal’s location in the Hoggar mountains of Algeria; the final portal, the Andes portal, would be built on top of Aconcagua in Argentina.

 

With the actual physical connections to the Muggle World— or Midgar, as Harry now often called it— all set in place, it was time to start hashing out a plan for the Muggles themselves.

 

Harry adamantly refused to cut off contact entirely; that simply wasn’t feasible. Tom certainly didn’t see it that way.

 

Harry pointed out that the many highly-advanced societies in this universe (all of which Tom didn’t know of) were all interconnected, and that interconnectivity was an integral part of why they were so successful. Isolation would only hinder progress and innovation— Wizarding Britain being a case in point. Years without connection to the rest of the magical world had left Britain stagnating and losing all of its pureblood lines to inbreeding and infertility. Voldemort eventually, very begrudgingly, conceded his point.

 

“Then just take them,” he says, when they come upon the subject of Muggleborns. “What does it matter? We already know of them the moment they’re born in the Muggle World. It would be easiest to take them when they’re small.”

 

“I’m not kidnapping babies from their families,” Harry guffaws, with incredulity. “That’s a ridiculous idea! We can’t just fish them out of Midgard and ruin families like that— that’s terrible.”

 

“They won’t even remember it anyway— and why do you keep calling it that?” He asks, with exasperation.

 

He and Harry are once again sequestered in the Tower of Babylon, arguing over the future of the Wizarding World during lunch, as they often do these days. Voldemort normally works right through it, but ever since Harry started sticking around, he has begun to adamantly and consistently take a lunch break, no matter how many meetings he has that day. It’s usually a good time for the two to actually see each other face to face, since Harry is usually asleep when he leaves, and asleep when he returns. Not to mention, this way Voldemort can monitor him and make sure he’s maintaining an appropriate level of intake, and looking after his own health.

 

Harry frowns up at him from his falafel. “That’s not an excuse,” he says, severely. And then, to his question; “Midgard, you mean?”

 

“Yes,” the dark lord says waspishly. What else would he be referring to?

 

Harry shrugs. “That’s what the other nine holds of Ysgradil call it. And anyway, I figured now that we’re separate worlds there’s no point in calling one the ‘muggle world’ and the other the ‘magical world’. Muggle is a British term too— isn’t it better to have a word that can be used cohesively around the world?”

 

Voldemort narrows his eyes. “And what is this world called?”

 

“Hmm?” Harry is distracted with his falafel once again. Voldemort can’t even reprimand him, because he’s too relieved to see the boy exhibiting a healthy appetite.

 

“What are the other worlds calling this new world of ours?”

 

“Oh!” Harry finally looks up. “They call it Seidrheim— Seidr being the word for magic. And we're getting off topic here.” He points out, crossly, as if he assumes Voldemort distracted him on purpose. (He might have.) “We’re not separating newbloods from their parents.”

 

“Newbloods?” Voldemort redirects the conversation again, repeating the word with a look of disbelief. “What in Merlin’s name is a newblood?”   

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s the new term for Muggleborns, obviously. If we’re not calling it the Muggle world, and we’re not calling them Muggles, then we need a new word, no? Newblood is rather self explanatory, I would think.”

 

Voldemort certainly can’t deny that, but all the same it’ll take some getting used to. It is, however, a step in the right direction. A new term for a fresh new start— a word without the stigma of being attached to ‘muggle’. Newbloods for a new world. He supposed it had a nice ring to it.

 

“Newbloods is acceptable I suppose,” he agrees, reluctantly, folding his arms as he leans back against his seat. “But what are you suggesting, if not to take them?”

 

Harry polishes off his falafel, moving on to the pita bread and pickled vegetables. “Well the way I see it, the statue of secrecy is no longer necessary.” He explains, once he’s swallowed his food. “We’re no longer in any danger of being attacked by Midgardians— so what if they know about us? At this point, they already vaguely know of the other nine realms. It’s impossible for them to get to us without our explicit approval.”

 

“A newblood born in the other world automatically has citizenship here in Seidrheim from the moment they’re born. When they’re two years-old, they begin preschool here, and schooling then on until adulthood. And when the school is on break, they return home to Midgard. Of course we want them to stay here and acclimate to our society, providing new blood lines and more people, but if they prefer Midgard than they’re more than welcome to stay there instead.”

 

“At their own risk, of course.” Harry adds quickly. “Any magical traveling into Midgard does so at their own risk. Personally I don’t think midgardians will care, or be much of a threat, but all the same once they are in Midgard they’re on their own.”

 

“And what of their parents?” Voldemort asks. “You don’t want to separate them from their… — ‘Midgardian’ family, as you put it, so what do you plan on doing about that?”

 

“Well, just because the newblood has citizenship doesn’t mean their parents do.” Harry shrugs. “Their parents are not part of our world and never will be. How the newbloods choose to handle that is up to the individual— but I would suspect it would be similar to what newbloods do now, returning to Midgard for holidays and other such occasions often spent with family, before coming back here.”

 

This pleases him. “So they’re not allowed here at all.” He actually quite likes the idea. Let the muggleborns risk themselves all they like if they want to return to the muggle world.

 

Harry makes a contemplative noise. “Never permanently, no.” He returns, thoughtfully. “I imagine Migardians will often get one-day visas or the like, to come visit the magical world for special events— a graduation, a wedding, buying school supplies, and the like. It would have to be approved, of course, but I don’t see why it would be a problem. The magical contract they would sign would kick them out after their visa is up whether they like it or not.”

 

The dark lord considers this. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. Clearly it came from Granger, then. “Many details will have to be ironed out,” he warns, which is the same as voicing his tacit approval. Harry all but beams at him. “For example, what of ‘newbloods’ with abusive or neglectful parents?”

 

Harry’s smile dims into something softer— a certain sorrow lingering in the corners of his mouth. His expression turns maudlin, and the look he turns to Tom is somewhat secretive, as if they both know how close that hits to home for them, but are unwilling to admit it aloud.

 

“I’ve thought of that, of course.” Harry says, quietly but seriously, setting his fork down. “In those instances, we will take them out of the dangerous environment and either place them in an Institution, or with a foster family if available.”

 

Voldemort frowns. “Institution?” He repeats.

 

Harry nods. “Housing, really, for newbloods without families. They’ll be built near schools, and will have all the necessities for raising children. I would consider it more of a group home than an orphanage. Hermione is already working out the building planning— the accommodations will be of the highest quality. Residents have their own bedroom and bathroom, and plentiful staff to help with schoolwork and other day to day life activities. It will never be the same as growing up in a loving household… but it’s better than nothing.” Harry shrugs then, trailing off.

 

The dark lord does not reply, digesting this thoughtfully.

 

“At the very least, they will have resources at their disposal and an opportunity to grow and learn equal to children from families.” Harry adds.

 

He can’t imagine how different his life would be, if he had been born in this new world of his. What would have happened to Tom Riddle, if he had just as many opportunities to succeed as the pureblood children who had grown up their whole lives with magic surrounding them? What would he have done if he had never needed to want for basic necessities; for food, a warm bed, clean water, and if he could have as much of them as he wanted whenever he needed it? Surely those comforts wouldn’t be enough to dampen his ambitions or his determination to make something of himself, but he most likely wouldn’t have… gone about it in the way he ended up doing, if his past had been different.

 

When he looks up, Harry is not looking at him, retrieving his utensil to push his food around his plate half-heartedly. He looks equally as lost in thought, as if he too was wondering what his life would have been like, if he had grown up in one of these institutions.

 

“The idea has merit,” he concludes, after another moment of thought. “And you said Granger already has building plans in the works?”

 

Harry glances up at him with a shy smile. “She’s very passionate about it, if that wasn’t obvious.” He nods, wryly.

 

If the dark lord is being honest, he has a feeling he will be equally as passionate about the project as well.

 

“It’s an easy thing to be passionate about,” he finds himself saying, softly, surprising both he and Harry.

 

Voldemort looks away then, frowning. He is not normally so… overtly emotional. But he supposes the topic really hits home, in a way he hasn’t had to deal with for most of his adult life.

 

Harry seems to understand, wisely deciding not to comment on the uncharacteristic remark.

 

.

 

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**Author's Note:**

> *Easter Egg: the Muggle world in the Yebisu!verse is actually just the Avengers Cinematic Universe. But I'll probably only ever mention it in passing.


End file.
